Break
by Purple Pariah
Summary: She had been a doctor too. Almost not quite, not really, not nearly as good as him, but none of that seems to matter anymore. Still, he will not forget.


Break

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not yet...

Author's note: This story is based off the fact that Harley worked at Arkham before her craziness set in, and Crane did too (if only in Batman Begins). It's possible that they worked together at some point, especially since they were portrayed as friends in BTAS. It's also inspired by E.S. Young's Fear and Malice, which is amazing. Go read it. Right now. I'm not deluded enough to think that this piece of poop is even remotely on the same level as that story, but...well, I tried. Reviews are awesome! If I don't know what I'm doing wrong, I shall not improve.

She had been a doctor too. Almost (not quite, not really, not nearly) as good as him, but none of that seems to matter anymore. Still, he will not forget.

He wasn't top dog at the asylum when she started. He was the best of course, but not the director. He was corrupting in secret, experiments just starting to take place in small, soundproof rooms in the abandoned asylum basement, but he was almost to the top. And she was fresh, new. Dark lips, tiny waist, sky-colored eyes, and bottle blonde hair. Chin held high, stylish top cut low. Radiating confidence and charm, oozing pleasantries and enthusiasm.

He wanted to break her. Watch her struggle and sink, just as people like her had done to him all those years ago. Make her cry, make her scream, make her wish she could die, and then allow it to happen. It would be satisfying, breaking her. He had hated her from the moment he laid eyes on her, and she hadn't even said a word to him.

Ironically enough, she decides that she likes him. She wants him as her friend in the asylum, which is odd, considering that out of all the doctors he is the coldest and the cruelest. She says he's refreshing. Sarcasm. Reality. Intelligence. He can't blame her for that either. The others are either idealists (who never last long against the Arkham's inherent depression), idiots, greedy, or corrupt (He's corrupt too, but it's in the same way she is). She's decided to let him in, and he lets her, because it'll only make her easier to crush. He still hates her.

She talks, and it reveals more about her than she probably intends. Her innocence is fake. Just like the charm, the eagerness, the smiles. A pretty, deceitful little cynic. He's almost pleased. She's smart, deceptive, and a good psychologist. A _very_ good psychologist. Not as good as him, of course, but the second best in the asylum. He tries not to be impressed, but it's a difficult feat when she proves so capable. He watches her sessions, and notices a striking similarity in their methods. Loose morals. The willingness to risk the patient's safety, her own safety, just to see if her theories are right. She's here to study, not to cure. She pushes her patients until they break, going far past what any typical doctor would, and then pushes farther. Experimental strategies, dangerous strategies. Strategies that could lead to the patient's death if she's wrong. But she's very rarely wrong.

It's difficult not to enjoy her company. She funny, with a dark humor he can appreciate, and she's the only one intelligent enough for him to converse with. It doesn't help that she has similar opinions on the other doctors, on treatment methods, on the mind. They get along well, too well, and one day he catches himself waiting outside the a tiny asylum room for her to finish her session. He calls her Harleen (not Harley, never Harley) when he refers to all the other doctors by their last names, and the familiarity is significantly different for him. But it _does not _frighten him. He will not let her in. When he lets people in they destroy him from the inside out. And she has her own reservations, her own secrets, her own limits, too. Still, they get closer, but he won't call her his friend. And he still wants to make her snap. It gets harder to say that he hates her.

One day he tells her about the experiments. She wants to know about the effects, about the survival rate, about the ingredients. He tells her. She encourages him.

Time goes on, and eventually he goes rogue. A patient in his own asylum. She ends up in a cell too, driven mad by the clown prince himself. They have team ups sometimes, when they're both roaming Gotham, and when she's free of the filthy clown's control. When they end up in Arkham together they share the rec room couch, and if they end up with adjacent cells (which is often) they can talk quietly to each other through the thin wall between them. They even break out together once or twice.

On one particularly cold, particularly stormy Gotham night in the middle of February, she takes refugee on the ratty couch in his lair. She's bloody and _broken_ and unconscious, having passed out shortly after stumbling through his door. Any other rogue would've been tossed to the curb to die, but she got food and a place to sleep. He wrapped her wounds and tucked the warmest blanket he had around her too-tiny form. He wouldn't admit their friendship, but he also wouldn't deny her his help. He has seen her break herself, and regrets having ever wanted to cause it himself.

END!

Thanks for reading! I love these two together as a couple, but I wanted to keep this story friendship. Was it alright? In character? Again, thanks for reading!


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